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The angel of spring, the mellow-throated nightingale. - Sappho fragm. 30 It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree. - William Shakespeare The nightingale, if he should sing by day, when every goose is cackling, would be thought no better a musician than the wren. How many things by season seasoned are to their right praise and true perfection! - William Shakespeare Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yond pomegranate tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. - William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet (Juliet at III, v) The crow doth sing as sweetly as the lark When neither is attended; and I think The nightingale, if she should sing by day When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren. How many thing by season seasoned are To their right praise and true perfection! - William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice (Portia at V, i) O Nightingale, Cease from thy enamoured tale. - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Scenes from "Magico Prodigioso" (sc. 3) One nightingale in an interfluous wood Satiate the hungry dark with melody. - Percy Bysshe Shelley, Woodman and the Nightingale The nightingale as soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth, Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making. And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth What grief her breast oppresseth. - Sir Philip Sidney (Sydney), O Philomela Fair Where beneath the ivy shade, In the dew-besprinkled glade, Many a love-lorn nightingale, Warbles sweet her plaintive tale. - Sophocles, Oedipus Coloneus, (translated by Thomas Francklin) The nightingale is sovereign of song. - Edmund Spenser Lend me your song, ye Nightingales! O, pour The mazy-running soul of melody Into my varied verse. - James Thomson (1), Seasons--Spring (l. 574) The rose looks out in the valley, And thither will I go, To the rosy vale, where the nightingale Sings his song of woe. - Gil Vicente, The Nightingale, (John Bowring's translation) -----Under the linden, On the meadow, Where our bed arranged was, There now you may find e'en In the shadow Broken flowers and crushed grass. --Near the woods, down in the vale, Tandaradi! - Walter von der Vogelweide, Under the Linden, translated in "The Minnesinger of Germany" Last night the nightingale woke me, Last night, when all was still. It sang in the golden moonlight, From out the woodland hill. - Christian Winther, Sehnsucht, translation used by Marzials in his song, "Last Night" Displaying page 2 of 2 for this topic: << Prev 1 [2]
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